


Memory

by boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock TV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami/pseuds/boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There he was waiting for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory

**_There he stood waiting for me to come home._ **

 

I was already old. I was 82 years old. I had outlived my husband who died when he was only 79. The brave soldier called John Watson was no longer in duty. In fact, I was retiring already. Retiring forever and never going to work again.

 

I was on my deathbed at St. Barts. It was odd feeling being back here after years. It was new being here as a patient and not the Doctor. My health was failing. My whole body was shutting down. My organs were betraying me. God have mercy though I couldn’t blame You. I had been here for a lot of years already. I had witnessed Mrs. Hudson’s, Mycroft’s, Greg’s deaths and their funerals. I had also witnessed a lot more deaths specially the death of my husband, Sherlock Watson-Holmes. It was painful but relieving. Relieving because they would suffer no more. Painful because I was alone.

 

Sometimes I hated them for going first. I wanted to be the first one. I was supposed to be the fourth eldest aside from Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and Greg. Yet here I was: alone and dying. I was gasping for breath. I was trying to get more air. I was trying to outlive them again. Why was I doing this again? I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t move my hands. What was the point of keeping me alive when sooner or later I’d be on the other side? No one would miss me. I was the one missing them. They were already on the other side watching me like I was in a movie. Had they been selling popcorns too? Was Sherlock watching me too?

 

Sherlock, if you are watching, please take me home.

 

I wondered what it felt like on the other side. I wonder what it felt being with them again. I wonder-

 

I heard the beep. The sharp jab of pain stabbed my chest. I could resist no more. I let out a whimper then I felt nothing again.  I was numbed. I was far too gone from these body. I was being sedated again, wasn’t I? No one was in the room. No one was there to witness my faltering breaths and clenching hands. No one was there for me. Had I really been this alone all the time? What had I ever done to deserve any of this? Was I a bad person?

 

Beep. I forced my eyes open and tears fell down. My head was bursting with adrenaline yet there was nothing that could be used for releasing it. The painful stab on my right side was the sign of kidney failure. The thump on my chest was the sign of heart failing to do its purpose.

 

It hurted. It was killing me. Slowly yet surely.

 

I cried. I wasn’t bawling my eyes out. I couldn’t do that anymore. I just let the tears flow down my cheeks as I silently endured the pain. I silently waited for the time of my death. I would be lying if I said I didn’t anticipate it. In fact. I did. I did pick my casket. I already did pick my flowers and suit to wear in my funeral.

 

Beep.

 

The hallucination started. I closed my eyes and the pain was fading. I was standing in a white room. My hands weren’t wrinkled. My left hand was still attached to a tube. There was no pain. Just pure floating feeling.  I walked around the room and saw something in the distance. I couldn’t see it properly.

 

I tried to walk but the tube wasn’t letting me walk. I tried to get it out but I couldn’t. I tried to walk again to no avail. It was tightly knotted to the wall inside the room. I stood there waiting for it to loosen its knot.

 

Beep.

 

It did.

 

I tried to walk again. This time, I could walk. Hell I could run. The tube wasn’t preventing me anymore. I ran towards the bundle of mess in the distance. No matter what I did, the mess wasn’t getting nearer. It was getting far the more I tried to get closer to it.

 

Beep. Beep.

 

I started to move slowly again. It was tiring to ran. I finally realized that I should not had run. It would tire me out easily. I might had give up sooner or later if I continued to ran. Then I realized, it wouldn’t work if I ran. I just had to patiently wait and walk slowly towards the mess. Just like what I was doing now. Patiently waiting and not trying to kill myself. With the number of times I contemplated on taking my life, not one was successful. Not even one got close to taking me in this hallucination.

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

I stopped moving. Pain.

 

Pain.

 

I was in pain.

 

This time I could feel it even in my hallucinations. I felt the cold dampness of metal touching my chest electrocuting me. I started to scream.

 

Pain!

 

They were reviving me. They were trying to lengthen my time again. They were trying to let me live alone again. Why were they doing this? Why? No. I didn’t want to be alone again. No more. I wanted to be with them.

 

No.

 

Stop.

Please stop.

 

Just let me go.

 

Let me go.

 

Please.

 

Stop.

 

Then it stopped.

 

The metal on my body was lifted. I opened my eyes and saw doctors’ head shaking. I smiled a little at this sight.

 

Finally.

 

The tube was broken. It was snapped into two. Then it vanished.

 

In the last moments of my breath, I reached the bundle of mess. In the last moments of my existence, I reached the point of the convergence of dying and living.

 

In the last moments, I saw thousand of memories floating around me. It was my memories. Memories that were embodied by photographs floating around dancing and twirling into thin air. It had letters and flowers too. I looked at the photographs of me being a kid. My years of service in Afghanistan and most importantly, my wedding to Sherlock. It was directly in front of me.

 

Sherlock. How long would I have to wait for me to even see you again?

 

I reached it and placed it in my chest. I wanted to feel the warmth of Sherlock. I wanted to feel him.

 

“John” A voice broke my trail of thoughts. I looked up. I saw him.

 

I saw him in the middle of this mess wearing our wedding suit. I saw him. There he stood waiting.

 

I saw him waiting for me.

 

“It took you long enough.” He stated. I smiled at him. He was holding white roses. His hair was still the same curly black curls with those enchanting eyes but he was younger. He was still my Sherlock.

 

He was actually smiling at me. Smiling with kindness on his eyes. Smiling like there was no tomorrow.

 

“I’m sorry.” I whispered at him. He walked towards me and stopped two metres away.

 

“Apology accepted.” He smiled again. Was this not heaven? Because it felt like it with him in front of me smiling and talking. I would never get tired of that smile.I would never let him go. Never again.

 

We just stood there in silence. Savouring the moment of seeing each other. Memorizing each of our features.

 

“Ready to go in an adventure again?”Sherlock asked.

 

I grinned. “Oh god yes.” He held out his hand for me and I took it enthusiastically. I could hear him saying:

 

“Let us go Home.”

 

I was going home. I was finally going home. It was over. I was going with him now. We would never part again.

 

Sherlock. I missed you.

 

Please take me home.

 

Then before I knew it,

 

Beep.

 

I was already home.

 

__

 

John Hamish Watson-Holmes died on December 26, 2050 with a smile plastered on his face. The Doctors also grinned and quietly murmured:

 

Bon Voyage, Dr. Watson. We know you are going home. Say our greetings to your husband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry. Just done it quickly.


End file.
